Democracy Gone Astray

Democracy, being a human construct, needs to be thought of as directionality rather than an object. As such, to understand it requires not so much a description of existing structures and/or other related phenomena but a declaration of intentionality.
This blog aims at creating labeled lists of published infringements of such intentionality, of points in time where democracy strays from its intended directionality. In addition to outright infringements, this blog also collects important contemporary information and/or discussions that impact our socio-political landscape.

All the posts here were published in the electronic media – main-stream as well as fringe, and maintain links to the original texts.

[NOTE: Due to changes I haven't caught on time in the blogging software, all of the 'Original Article' links were nullified between September 11, 2012 and December 11, 2012. My apologies.]

Wednesday, May 22, 2013

Obama and Morehouse: The Bell Tolls

When I entered Morehouse College, in the late summer of 2004, I was told, quite literally, that there was a bell that tolled for me. Along with several hundred other freshmen, I had just moved onto campus, and was told that I was in the right place at the right moment in history. A school that took on the mission of educating African American men in 1867, just two years after the Civil War, Morehouse has, understandably, made affirmation a part of its tradition. On campus, there is an actual bell, deep bronze and set high on a ten-foot perch, used sometimes in celebrations, like freshman orientation and graduation, to bring the metaphor to life with its rich and resonant sound.

The bell rang again this past Sunday after President Obama delivered the commencement address. It was, naturally, the first time a black President had addressed the students. When I graduated, during the heat of the primary-campaign battle between Obama and Hillary Clinton, the speaker was Emmett D. Carson—a notable businessman who delivered an inspiring speech, but not the President. The excitement to hear and witness this President on this campus could not have been matched by any other speaker. One parent reportedly arrived at 3:30 A.M. to save seats for his family; the President didn’t speak until eleven. The reactions to Obama’s speech, however, have been less affirming: mixed emotions, anger, even, and frustrations with what turned out to be premature proclamations of a post-racial America.

The President began by acknowledging the persistence of America’s problems with race. “We know” racism and discrimination are “still out there,” the President said. In full recognition of a difficult history, and still-difficult present, President Obama continued:

    You now hail from a lineage and legacy of immeasurably strong men—men who bore tremendous burdens and still laid the stones for the path on which we now walk. You wear the mantle of Frederick Douglass and Booker T. Washington, and Ralph Bunche and Langston Hughes, and George Washington Carver and Ralph Abernathy and Thurgood Marshall, and, yes, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. These men were many things to many people. And they knew full well the role that racism played in their lives.

What most observers have picked up on, though, was what came next: “But when it came to their own accomplishments and sense of purpose, they had no time for excuses.” Neither, the President said, does the graduating class. The ringing bell, Obama seemed to be saying, is less about acknowledging success than about asking one to face up to challenges—stepping out of a comfortable environment into one far less forgiving. The pace of the President’s speech quickened and became more forceful. He punctuated his sentences with a pointed finger when he challenged the graduates to persevere—just as he did.

One critic in particular has picked up on the tension between how the President speaks to black audiences and the rising-tide-lifts-all-boats policy approach that Obama takes toward his most ardent supporters. At The Atlantic, Ta-Nehisi Coates writes, “Barack Obama is, indeed, the president of ‘all America,’ but he also is singularly the scold of ‘black America.’ ” What is the responsibility of the first black President to African American communities? Coates continues, “Perhaps they cannot practically receive targeted policy. But surely they have earned something more than targeted scorn.” What does it mean for those communities to hear from the first black President that they will receive no special attention? Coates’s frustration is understandable—many African American communities continue to face dire crises—but his argument is limiting and, more problematically, it doesn’t begin to hint at any sort of resolution.

A more holistic assessment of the disparities in America—and of the actors who neglect to remedy them—has to include the role that Congress has played, and what everyday Americans can do to challenge our government into action. Coates, for example, targets “the timidity [the Obama Administration] showed in addressing a foreclosure crisis which devastated black America.” But it was Congress that chose to prioritize deficit reduction over more stimulus spending, which would have lessened the burden on poor communities; the President lost political battles, not ones that reveal with certainty a scorn for black America. Yes, people who look like our President live in many of the communities that suffer the most; that’s a fact of history that we can’t change. But democracy is not a zero-sum proposition, and perhaps the greatest lesson of President Obama’s tenure is that he needs help from voters to move Congress. In his speech, the President challenged a frequently accepted notion of success: “With doors open to you that your parents and grandparents could not even imagine, no one expects you to take a vow of poverty. But I will say it betrays a poverty of ambition if all you think about is what goods you can buy instead of what good you can do.” He told prospective doctors to “heal folks in underserved communities,” he told future lawyers to “defend the powerless,” and he told aspiring businessmen to consider “what broader purpose your business might serve in putting people to work or transforming a neighborhood.”

The bell on campus is used not only to commemorate joyous occasions—admitting a new class and bidding farewell to another—but is also rung in times of crisis. Earlier in the College’s history, it was a warning of threats from the region’s active Ku Klux Klan. When it rang on Sunday, was it to celebrate or alert? Today, the bells of crisis still resound—persistently higher unemployment rates, unfair lending practices, and disturbing cultures of gun violence—in black communities across the country. But as John Donne wrote, in his Meditation XVII, “as therefore the bell that rings to a sermon, calls not upon the preacher only, but on the congregation to come.”

Original Article
Source: newyorker.com
Author: Matthew McKnight

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